


An Inexorable Tide

by misura



Category: Flood (2007)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Sam, after.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doranwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doranwen/gifts).



They've pumped out the water and carried out the bodies, and there's a mile-long list of work that needs to be done and positions (dead men and women's boots) that need to be filled.

Sam puts off going to the Barrier for a day, and then another day, and another. She doesn't _need_ to be there to get things done - most of the phone lines and nearly all of the utility services are up and running again, but job interviews can be held in any empty office, and e-mails and phone calls can be made as well from home as from anywhere else.

On the fourth day, she looks at herself in the bathroom mirror and decides that she is tired of being a coward.

 

"Sam," Rob says. "I'm sorry, I meant to call you sooner. It's just that I've been very, very busy these past few days."

It's an echo, of sorts, of the kind of thing he used to say back when, one of many possible answers to the question of _What happened to us?_.

"Tell me about it," she says, trying to make it a joke, an offering of sympathy. This is not 'back when'. This is _now_. This is their second chance.

"You, too, huh? I should have known. Listen, I'm going to be out of town for a few days, but after, why don't we meet for coffee somewhere?"

 _I don't want to meet later. I want to meet today. I want you to be there for me when I go back to the Barrier._ The place where his father died, saving all of them. _I want to be there for you when you go back to the Barrier._ Like her, he has to go back there eventually. Unlike her, his reasons for not having gone there just yet are probably a lot more valid.

"Where are you going?" She tries to sound casual, interested, but not overly invested in the answer.

"Just picking up some of Toni's stuff," Robert says. "Not - they already held the funeral, but there were some items that got left behind, and there's still some paperwork to deal with. It didn't seem right to let his family deal with all that. I volunteered," he adds, as if she would have ever assumed otherwise.

 _It wasn't your fault._ Pointless, to repeat that, for all that it's still true.

"Want some company?" she says, instead.

 

It's strange, to see the parts of the country that have remained mostly untouched by what has happened, to look at ordinary houses and gardens and fields passing by through the car window and feel like crying. Sam doesn't think of herself as particularly emotional, let alone sentimental.

Duncan sent her roses, with a 'thank you for a wonderful evening' scribbled on a small, impersonal card. Rob, after their first date, sent her an e-mail that made her laugh. (He also sent her a link to an article in a recent issue of the Journal for Oceanographic Studies she'd already read and dismissed as mostly irrelevant and possibly incorrect on several minor points in its conclusion.)

"Do you think these people know how lucky they are?" Rob asks.

She wonders if he's read her expression or if it's just that he's been thinking the same thing. (Well, not the bit about how he compares to Duncan, probably.)

"I don't think anyone ever knows what they had until they lose it," she says.

Work had always been important, to both of them, from the beginning. It was part of what brought them together, part of what they shared. Something to talk about.

She still can't quite pinpoint the moment when it stopped being something that connected them and started being something that divided them instead, a reason for them to spend time apart, instead of together. She knows it felt like Rob's fault, at the time - Rob's excuse, to be late for dinner, or to not stick around for breakfast. To not be there for date night, or to have dinner with her parents, or Karen.

"Probably true," Rob says. "A bit sad, though, don't you think?"

"I think it just means that maybe we should try a little bit harder sometimes," she says. "You know, to appreciate the things and people we take for granted."

"Yes," Rob says. "Of course. People like Toni."

 _People like you and me and Leonard._ "He knew that you were his friend, even if you were also his boss. There's no way you could have known what was going to happen."

"I should have known, though. Like - I just feel like such an idiot sometimes. When I look back at my life, there are so many things I wish I could have done differently. So many mistakes I made."

 

Closer to their destination, the landscape becomes more familiar again. The roads get muddier, and some of them are blocked entirely, according to the road signs posted.

It's reassuring, in an odd way, to see those signs. To know that things are still not back to normal, but that people are working on it. The worst is over. There's time to grieve, now, and to start rebuilding.

There's a bed and breakfast still open for business, some distance from Wick. Two rooms, and the promise of a hearty breakfast in the morning, to help them on their way.

Until the storm comes, she thinks nothing of having a room alone and all by herself.

 

It's the sound of the rain that wakes her up. Rationally, she knows there's no cause for alarm; they're in Scotland, near the coast; rain is part of the expected local weather pattern.

Electricity still works. She switches on the small lamp next to the bed, then the big one, the one that floods the whole room in light. It makes outside seem darker, harder to see clearly.

She considers finding a radio and switching it on, just in case - except, of course, that there is no reason to. This is not a natural disaster; this is simply a spot of bad weather. She's slept through much worse - in a tent, once, even, with Rob grumbling about how they're never going camping ever again, because it always ends up like this, and anyway, the great outdoors is vastly overrated.

She wonders if he's awake, too, now. If he's turned on the light. If, maybe, like her, he wishes that he weren't alone.

_One easy way to find out._

The door to his room swings open almost before she's finished knocking, as if he's been standing behind it, waiting. Hoping, possibly, or working up his nerve. (Mistakes, Rob can admit to, albeit easier now than when they were first together. Weakness is another matter, even if Sam doesn't think needing another person to be there, to hold you for a bit and assure you everything is going to be all right is a weakness, per se.)

"Sam." His voice is wry. His expression is relieved. "You, too, huh?"

"Can I come inside?" Sam doesn't think their hosts are going to think anything of a pair of guests standing talking in the hallway. She's cold, though, and the rooms are warm.

"Of course. Please."

She sits on the bed because there's nowhere else to sit. It looks unslept in, like Rob hasn't even tried to get some sleep. Probably, he's got a heavy workload to deal with, too, although working off his phone seems less than ideal. (Not that Sam expects that to stop him from trying.)

"I know it's just rain. I don't need to check the weather forecasts to know that this is normal. That we're safe, even if I don't _feel_ safe."

Rob grimaces. "Your self-control's better than mine, then."

She tries to smile. A braver person would have smiled, she thinks. "Thanks. For checking, I mean."

"No problem." Rob sighs. "So, what now? We both need rest. These roads may not have a lot of traffic, but I still think things might go poorly if I were to fall asleep behind the wheel."

"You wouldn't." Another thing they have in common. "We could simply wait it out. It's already letting up a bit."

"Not really, it isn't." Rob sounds very sure. Fair enough; Rob has seen the weather forecasts.

Rob could perhaps have bent the truth a little to make her feel better. (No, he couldn't. Not Rob.)

Sam tries to appreciate his honesty. "But it's just rain, right? It's not going to - "

"No, no. It's fine." Rob sits down. Close enough to touch, if she wants to. "We needn't worry about the roads, either. A bit muddier, perhaps, but nothing more serious."

"Good thing we don't need to walk." The rain _does_ sound like it's letting up, like it's just a bit of water falling down, no threat to anyone who's inside a warm and cozy room, sitting next to someone who's got an arm wrapped around their shoulder to pull them just a little bit closer, to let them know that it's all going to be all right.

"Good thing, indeed." Rob's voice sounds softer, too. "Want to give this sleeping thing another try?"

"Here?" It's Rob's room, Rob's bed. "What about you?"

"I'll be right here, I promise. I'm not going anywhere," he says.

Which is no answer to her question at all, but still, somehow, good enough.


End file.
